Range
by Wicked R
Summary: Based on a tumblr prompt-Joe Sr.'s anger does not know bounds when he finds out his son has been beaten up. Set: Between episodes 4 and 5 of season 1.


Disclaimers: Unfortunately I don't own a Lee Pace. Not the original, and not any of his characters. Written for enjoyment only.  
Genre/Pairing: Angst/General. Snippet/missing scenes.  
Warning: slight stomach fetish, not much this time. :D  
Mood(LJthrowback): confussed

Joe gripped the doorframe of the workplace restrooms tightly, squeezing his eyes shut with the same intensity as he willed his head to stop swimming and his belly to settle. He was at Cardiff, he could not allow himself to show weakness, not when he was just about due to see Bosworth. Debbie had said that the boss had demanded for Joe to get over to his office straight away, but he had to make a stop at the bathroom as it was, and take a couple of pills as well.

While the pain caused by his cracked and bruised ribs has subsided to bearable even without analgesics, his stomach had showed no signs of improving, so much so he had to assume the beating had caused a flare up of his otherwise chopped up and partially missing, inflammation prone intestines, direct consequence of the surgery he went through as a child to repair the damage caused by falling some storeys on top of a fence. Not seeing any other alternative, he had contacted his old doctor in New York and flew over for a consultation and a good supply of medicine to keep the symptoms at bay. He would get there-he psyched himself and tried some unsteady steps towards the exit, finding his performance satisfactory enough to make it to the desired destination corner office.

After one more self-conscious check inward that his facial expression was also non-telling, Joe ambled into the vice president's office, wondering what has changed for Bosworth to want to talk to him in private. As ruthless as the attack on Joe had been and as adamant as John had insisted on being to take the lead on all matters, the younger man had the impression that his balding boss was usually avoiding him at present as much as was possible and even when they were in the same space, Bosworth avoided eye contact. Was that a sign of a little regret and remorse? All the same, Joe would not show weakness, give no satisfaction. He had his own agenda and the little hiccup will not deter him. John will have no choice, but to follow through in a checkmate situation he will be faced with.

The senior VP was sitting by his desk and grunted at his entrance, then waved a hand at the chair on the other side, "sit down Joe."

The taller man paused, contemplating his options for a moment. The movement of the muscles of his chest and abdomen during such an action like bending and placing himself into a chair would no doubt elicit some pain, but sitting was perhaps more advisory in the circumstances-belly churning and sweat breaking out on his forehead. The tie was pretty tight too. So he sat, carefully, with as much blasé as he could muster.

John watched, not missing a beat. He grunted again in displeasure and picked up the newspaper lying in front of him to drop it on Joe's side, the right way up for the product manager to read. "How is this possible?"

Joe raised his eyebrows. He had to shift his body again to read and leaned forward with little enthusiasm till the pictures on the front page became visible. 'Further Dallas corruption exposed: police officers suspended'-read the headline and he couldn't feel anything else than gratification for a moment as those two people on the attached photos were the very same ones who attacked him. "How should I know? I'm guessing some of the force is always found to be corrupt, anywhere."

"Alright." John pulled back, animate. "I was somewhat surprised to say the least. I have not seen some of these moves in any book," he admitted. Despite it being obvious, his deeds were never openly acknowledged, but he came pretty close to it in his frustration this time. "And then Nathan called saying that someone is suing him for the ownership of his ranch on the grounds of it being unlawfully claimed by his great grandfather after he shot the real owner! Can you believe the madness!" He rose his voice and himself off his chair, looming over the desk hostilely, "but I'm guessing you know nothing about that either!"

Joe would've laughed if his ribs would've allowed. Either way, the answer was "no" and it would've been even if he had any idea what the other was talking about. "It just seems to me that the saying is true-what comes around, goes around."

"Somebody bashed into my car from the back this morning. I thought it was an accident. I got a hire car to come in and guess what, it has been vandalised down there in the car park, right in front of our noses."

"How peculiar." Joe supplied, contemplative for the first time. It sounded like vendetta and incidentally, it was directed at his own enemies. Nathan and John would've assumingly made a few questionable deals down the line, but would those involve the same police officers too? It was marginally possible. Until John's next comment.

"Copies of X-rays I was sent prove nothing. Is it really war you want? Cause a yank on Southern soil, I'm sure stepping on everyone's toes won't end well. I am open to coming some agreement that everyone can live with," John offered gratingly.

X-rays. He only had them made at one place, at his doctor's office in New York who he thought was bound by confidentiality policies. But those possibly don't count if said doctor had loyalties and dividends to worry about at a certain company. Evidently, head of IBM, Joe Macmillan Sr must've found out about them and now everyone involved down in Dallas was suffering the consequences. And while Joe was impressed and not completely surprised by the length and fastidiousness his father went to in order to punish those who have wronged his son, this was not how he had planned to prove himself either to his father or to his own person.

"Joe! Joe?" The New Yorker was interrupted in his reverie for a moment by a hand on his shoulder-his good shoulder incidentally?

It appeared that John had come round his desk while Joe was in deep thought and was trying to get his attention by leaning close and staring at him intently, somewhat in disarray. "Are you feeling okay?" He asked edgily. Last thing he needed was Joe passing out in his office because those, now largely exposed, ex police officers he was unfortunate enough to call buddies maybe overstepped the mark and caused more serious injuries than he ever intended. Cracked ribs were not in the cards, concussion was not in the cards, signs of potentially dangerous internal bleeding was not in the cards. All he wanted was Joe intimidated and for him to understand what kind of fire he was playing with. Sitting on the edge of his desk, he frowned, regarding the younger man, who was getting decidedly paler under the persevering purple and green bruises. John rubbed his forehead and seriously contemplated-what if he made it clear his intensions weren't such physical harm, wouldn't that be the best way to stop this war from escalating into madness? But first things first-his silent conversation partner didn't seem in the best of condition at the moment despite heroically dragging himself into work early every morning and continuing with plans to secure finances for their project and oversee its development.

"Son?" He enquired about the other's wellbeing wearily and not getting a reaction was just about to call Debbie to get the man a glass of water, but Joe finally looked up, manner and expression back to schooled, cold and businesslike.

"Don't call me that." Joe established evenly, almost alarming in its feigned detachedness, "I play dirty, that is true," the younger man allowed, "but certain things past a mark are not my style," he stated pointedly. "And I can assure you, there are boundaries that won't be crossed." He knew his father well enough to be able to promise that. "However, are you really going to shed tears over exposure of corruption? Are you sure Cardiff really has legitimate rights to that property? Maybe you should let justice run its course? It might be beneficial for the company on the long term you know." He preferred not to have to perform the feat of standing up without as much as a wince in front of his superior, but he had important matters to attend to, like getting a hold of his father and off the case.

"So what are you saying." John frowned, unsure of the meaning behind what he had just heard.

"A truce is fine by me," the man towering over him made a dismissive, lenient hand gesture, as if all the above had indeed been his doing, "I'll see to it that it stops," he treaded out purposefully, bodily ailments momentarily on the backburner in his mind. "Do not disturb with anything for the next ten minutes," he threw at Debbie on his way into his office.  
"Everything all right?" Debbie rose from behind her desk. She had been concerned about her superior with the way he struggled and was careful with movements sometimes, but she was never given the chance to help. The door closed on her this time as well.

The phone number to Joe Macmillan Sr.'s office Joe would always remember-it hasn't changed for the last ten years-and he didn't wait for pleasantries either when his father's weighty, expectant voice resonated through the telephone lines: "I want nothing from you. Have I not been clear enough to make you understand that." He fizzled.

"Joe." The elder MacMillan's voice turned resigned and exhausted, "are you alright?" He sighed.

"I want you to mind your own business and don't interfere with mine's."

"If it wouldn't have been just the fact I am your father, I would feel it my business, but you certainly made it mine by making sure it was IBM that was potentially wronged." Older Joe maintained. "I had to have a budget approved that we spend on spying on that place. We couldn't help some happenings coming to our attention."

"I am in control of the situation," Joe stressed, "but if you're trying to make me regroup and restart at the other side of the world instead where you can't interfere, that can be arranged."

"Very well," the man in charge of IBM supplied, stopping his son's tirade successfully at once. One thing the old man did do was keeping to his word. "I'm planned to take a layover in Dallas between two flights next week. I thought it would be a good occasion to meet up," he suggested wilfully.

Joe held back for a moment. His father had agreed to everything and accommodated his demands, distinctly quicker than any time in the past. He was looking out for his son too…Joe shook his head minutely. No. The man did not get to bring him round to his side so easily. A little boon won't get him to forget the lies, deceit and constant criticism he'd received growing up. "Talk to my secretary, see if I've got an opening in my schedule at the time," he gave, disconnecting gruffly.

The End


End file.
